“You know what it was as well as I do,” I told her, trying to skirt around specifics in the presence of the paramedic. If I started talking about ethereal visions, then she might very well change her assessment of me. I glanced over at my wife and continued. “You too Felicity. Especially you. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“Row,” Felicity replied. “Cally and I performed CPR on you. I think I know what I’m talking about.”
I looked back at her with pleading eyes and spoke in a deliberate tone. “You know what it was, Felicity.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“I am,” I stated, lacing my voice with all the confidence I could muster. “And, I don’t need to go to the hospital.” Once again I repeated a declaration I had already made over a half-dozen times in the past fifteen minutes.
She stared at me for a moment as if visible evidence that would dispute my claim would suddenly appear. As it was not forthcoming, she finally turned her gaze away and closed her eyes.
“What would you like to do?” The paramedic asked, addressing Agent Mandalay. “Am I taking him or not?”
“It’s up to you, Felicity,” Constance told my wife. “If you want him to go to the hospital, I’ll make it happen.”
I didn’t say anything more. The two of them had allied with one another almost as soon as Constance arrived. Once that happened, my opinion became instantly moot. Arguing with them had accomplished nothing so far, other than provide fuel for my headache.
Felicity finally let out a heavy sigh, and when she spoke, her normally lilting accent thickened, underscoring her words with a serious edge. “No. If he’s wrong, I’ll just kill him later, then.”
CHAPTER 15:
The shrieking whirr of the blender was biting into my skull as Felicity repeatedly pulsed it on and off. I rubbed my temples and watched on, as in a quick motion, she popped off the lid and added yet another ingredient to her homebrewed hangover remedy.
I slid my hand back around to the base of my neck, brushing it gingerly against my flesh. It was still throbbing, and I wondered if I must have hit something on my way down when I blacked out earlier. What little memory I had of the incident was all but completely out of focus, but I did seem to recall falling forward, not backward. I pulled my hand away and inspected it for blood but found none. Apparently, there was no wound even though it felt like there should be. Whatever it was, I just wished it would go away.
My friend groaned as he opened one eye and looked at me. He was sitting at the breakfast nook, or to be accurate, he was sprawled in a chair next to it. He had one elbow planted against the tabletop, and the side of his face was pressed into his loosely doubled fist.
I was sitting across from him, nursing a cup of coffee and staying out of it. I’d been on the receiving end of the Felicity hangover treatment before, and while it seemed to work, I knew what was in it, and moreover, what it tasted like. I didn’t envy him one bit.
Besides, I was too preoccupied to get involved. I was still busy wishing that the aspirin I had taken would actually do some good for my own headache. I knew they wouldn’t really, but if they worked their usual chemical magic, they would at least dull it a bit. Eventually.
Agent Mandalay was positioned diagonally across from Ben, standing with her back against the wall and watching him intently. We were down to just the four of us now, Cally and RJ having shuttled the twins back to Nancy’s house after helping us re-arrange the vehicles. It was a good bet that they shouldn’t be present for what was about to transpire, so we had ushered them out as graciously as we could under the circumstances. Still, we had to promise to give them an update as soon as we knew anything.
“Yo, Kemosabe,” Ben eventually croaked, barely loud enough to be heard over the whining blades.
“Yeah?”
“Why you got a freakin’ potato in a shoebox?”
I hadn’t paid much attention to it, but the physical remnants of Felicity’s recently dissolved binding were still adorning the table.
“Leftovers from a spell,” I replied.
“What kinda spell? Potato salad or French fries?” he chortled.
“A binding actually.”
“Binding. You mean like yer shorts?” He found himself amusing again.
“It’s like a magickal version of a restraining order,” I offered without acknowledging his attempt at humor. “Basically, it’s supposed to keep an individual from doing or saying whatever it is the spell is directed toward.”
“‘Zit work?”
“Depends,” I replied, avoiding the recent details. “Sometimes they backfire.”
“Then you make potato salad, right?” he chuckled.
“Yeah, Ben. Whatever.”
The pulsing whine of the blender’s motor came to a halt, and I looked up to see Felicity pouring a healthy measure of dangerous looking liquid into a glass. In a quick flourish, my wife settled the pitcher back onto the base and quickly dropped the lid onto it before stepping over to the table.
“Drink it,” she demanded, planting the full glass in front of Ben. “All of it.”
“What is it?” Ben muttered as he turned and gave the glass a one-eyed stare.
“It’s an old family hangover remedy,” she replied. “Just drink it.”
“I’m drunk,” he mumbled. “I’m not hung over.”
“You’re both,” she told him. “But you won’t be either one after you drink this.”
He turned his head farther, and I could tell he was trying to focus on the collection of bottles, cans, and cartons my wife had lined up on the counter during the preparation. He finally gave up and rolled his head back forward.
“What’s in it?” he asked, his voice still a gravelly rasp.
“Never you mind what’s in it. Just drink.”
“No thanks.” He closed his eye and slumped down even farther.
“It works, Ben,” I offered.
“Mebbe so, but I’ll pass.”
Felicity pushed the glass closer to him then gave his shoulder a light slap with the back of her hand as she adopted an even more stern tone. “Aye, drink it or I’ll be sitting on your chest and pouring it down your damn throat.”
“I don’t think she’s bluffing, Storm,” Agent Mandalay offered from her vantage point.
“Yeah, well ah’m fuckin’ bigger’n she is,” he told her.
“Maybe, but I think she’s meaner,” Constance returned. “And besides, I’ve got a pair of handcuffs she’s welcome to use.”
Ben opened a single eye again, then both. After a moment, he dropped his hand down and pushed himself back up in the seat. He wasn’t fully upright, but he was moving in the right direction at least. He wrapped his large hand around the glass and lifted it, inspecting the contents with bleary eyes.
“Bitch,” he muttered.
“Which one?” Constance asked with a thin smile.
He looked at her and then cast a wobbly glance up at Felicity who was still standing over him.
“Both of ya’,” he replied.
“We love you too,” Felicity replied sweetly. “Now drink.”
He lifted the glass up to his face and peered into it with one eye then passed it under his nose. He wrinkled his forehead and then put the glass back down as he announced, “Smells like shit.”
“Constance,” Felicity said.
“Storm,” Mandalay returned amid the metallic clink of her handcuffs slipping out of their case.
“All right, all right,” he returned, then picked up the concoction again.
“Just hold your nose,” I offered the bit of advice. “And drink it as fast as you can.”
“Yeah, right,” he sneered back at me, then put the glass to his lips and tossed it back.
Halfway through the first gulp he started to grimace. As the glass started back down, Felicity quickly placed her fingers against its base and forced it back up. He gagged for a moment then swallowed hard and finished the drink.
My wif
e wrapped her hand around the bottom of the glass then deftly took it from him as he pitched his head back forward and began to sputter.
“JEEZUS! Fuck me!” he exclaimed, waving his hands in the air and working his mouth in an attempt to evict the lingering flavor. “What the hell is that shit? It tastes like somethin’ died!”
“It’s not that bad, then. It’s just egg yolk, tomato juice, brewers yeast, Tabasco, vinegar, salt and a few other things,” Felicity returned. “Oh, and a couple of anchovies. Mustn’t forget those.”
“Jeez…” he continued, face screwed up in disgust. “Fuckin’ hairy fish?”
“Fish don’t have hair, Ben,” I told him.
“Bullshit. Anchovies got hair.”
“Those are small bones.”
“You call it bones, I call it hair. What’re ya’ tryin’ ta’ do, Felicity? Kill me?”
She ignored the question as she began disassembling the blender and washing the various parts in the sink.
“No,” Constance told him. “She’s trying to wake you up, so I can kill you.”
“Oh yeah? So what’d I do to you?” he grumbled.
“Briefing. Seven-thirty. Mandatory attendance,” she returned succinctly.
If the few hours of sleep combined with my wife’s home remedy hadn’t sobered him up yet, Mandalay’s words did so post haste. A pained look of realization washed over my friend’s features as he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead into his palm. “Oh jeezzzz… Fuck me…”
“Yeah, fuck you is right,” Constance agreed. “Look, Storm, I’m not even going to ask what your problem is. I don’t want to know. Rowan says you’ve got your reasons, and I’m willing to leave it at that.”
Ben shot me a startled glance from beneath his hand, and I just gave him a nod of reassurance as I mouthed the word ‘later.’
“Listen, Mandalay,” he groaned. “I’m sorry… I”
“That’s fine.” She held up her hand to stop him. “Like I said, I don’t want to know. I’ve already covered for you, and as far as I’m concerned this never happened. However, things have taken a turn, and I just need you to straighten up and get back on board here. Sooner, not later. As in right now.”
“Finally get a ransom demand?” he asked.
She clucked her tongue and took in a breath. “Not exactly.”
“What?” he asked, trepidation apparent in his voice.
“Rowan?” She turned the floor over to me.
Ben shot a glance over at Felicity then back to me. “You two go all Twilight Zone again?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “Unfortunately.”
“Aww, Jeezus…” he groaned. “Larson’s dead isn’t she?”
“If we’re right, yeah, she is.”
“Yeah, like you’ve been wrong about shit like that before,” he replied with a sarcastic note. “Dammit. When?”
“Our first inkling of it came just a little while after you crashed,” I told him. “So about three and a half, maybe four hours ago, I guess. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t actually happen earlier, or even yesterday.”
“I still don’t understand what you meant about ‘no head’ though,” Felicity said as she turned to face us and leaned back against the kitchen counter. She began absently drying the freshly washed blender parts as she looked at us.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s what you said when you first came to,” she replied with a dismissive shake of her head. “Brittany. No head.”
The biting pain in the back of my neck suddenly made all the sense in the world.
Just as it had happened with Felicity, the vision had faded away as quickly as it had come, and I didn’t even remember uttering the words. In the wake of everything that had happened over the course of the evening, this was actually the first time it had even been mentioned.
I wasn’t at all surprised that Felicity didn’t understand what the comment meant because I hadn’t told her what Ben had confided in me earlier in the day. But, I knew full well what the words implied, and so did Ben and Constance.
My friend slowly moved his hand aside and stared at me. I just stared back.
“You sure that’s what he said?” he finally asked without turning.
“Positive,” she replied. “Do you know what it means?”
“It means we have a serial killer who just claimed a third victim,” Constance announced flatly.
“Hey you three,” Felicity said. “I’m obviously not blonde, but maybe I’m having a moment here. A little help, then?”
“Tamara Linwood and Sarah Hart.” Ben explained, “Both corpses were found minus their heads.”
“Oh Gods…” she murmured softly.
“The initial theory on Hart was that it might have been due to predation,” Constance offered. “But then the medical examiner found seven grooved striations on the posterior of the remaining C-six vertebrae. The tool marks lab matched them to a manual hacksaw, most likely with a fourteen TPI bi-metal blade.”
“Good memory,” Ben said. “I didn’t know you were on that case.”
“I wasn’t.” She shook her head. “It came up as an NCIC match when we ran Larson’s abduction profile. Secluded parking lot, missing twenty-something-year-old woman, etcetera.”
“And you got all that from a NCIC hit?”
“Not all of it.” She shrugged. “I had a few minutes this morning, so I read the file.”
Ben raised an eyebrow and looked back at her incredulously. “And you remembered all that?”
“Well sure,” she replied.
“Jeezus, Mandalay, you’re almost as weird as these two.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Storm.”
“Well, I hate ta’ say it, but we still got another problem,” he ventured.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“We got no way to prove any of this stuff about Larson is true.”
“Unless we can find the body,” I offered.
“That’s a big ‘unless’, Rowan,” Constance expressed.
“What’re ya’ thinkin’ white man?” Ben queried. “You got that hinky look goin’ on.”
“I’m thinking that I obviously saw something while I was ‘under’ so to speak,” I explained. “So maybe I saw more than just the ‘no head’ thing.”
“Yeah, but apparently you didn’t even remember that, so how are you gonna remember anything else?”
“It’s a long shot, but…”
“NO.” Felicity’s austere voice cut me off.
“What?” Ben turned his head and asked her. “Was he gettin’ ready to say he wanted to do somethin’ stupid?”
“Yes,” she replied, her tone still harsh.
“How do you know what I was going to say?” I asked, slightly annoyed.
“She’s married to ya’, Kemosabe,” Ben huffed with almost a note of pained disgust in his voice. “She knows everything. Even what yer gonna say next.”
I sped immediately into an explanation, hoping to overshadow his words and more importantly, his tone. “I was only going to recommend we do a regression.”
“Like a past life thing?” Constance asked. “Hypnosis?”
“Similar,” I nodded as I answered her. “But instead of past life, I’d just be going to a previous point in my own.”
“Breugadair,” my wife spat, resorting to a Gaelic epithet for liar. “Someone else’s death is what you mean.”
“We don’t have much choice in the matter,” I contended.
“Rowan, not an hour ago your heart stopped beating for almost two minutes.”
“DO WHAT?!” Ben exclaimed, whipping his gaze back around to me.
“You were still passed out,” I explained quickly. “Besides, she’s making it out to be worse than it is.”
“I am not,” she defended herself.
“Yer fuckin’ heart stopped?” Ben pressed.
“Not according to the paramedics,” I said.
“Paramedics?” he exclaimed. “J
eezus H. Christ! What the hell else did I miss?”
“Rowan,” Constance said, ignoring Ben’s query. “Maybe Felicity is right.”
“It’s not as dangerous as she’s wanting you two to believe,” I appealed.
“All right. Fine.” Felicity leveled her determined gaze directly on me and pushed away from the counter as she announced, “Then how about if I do it.”
CHAPTER 16:
Talking myself into corners was something I excelled at on various occasions. Most especially when it came to trying to convince my wife that I was prepared to handle anything the ethereal world could throw at me. Of course, over the past few years she had seen more than her share of my experiences with such, and she knew better than to believe me. Therefore, it always took some creative explaining to convince her otherwise; or try to at least, because as of late, invariably I would lose the verbal scuffles.
So, getting into the corner was easy. Escaping from it once I found myself pinned was definitely something at which I needed more practice. As it happened, this was rapidly becoming a perfect opportunity for just such an experience. Since my back was now so firmly pressed into the metaphorical niche that it was beginning to take on a similar angular shape, I had nothing to lose by trying.
I blurted the second thing that came to mind, “No way.”
I chose the second thing to pop into my head because the first phrase was more along the lines of, ‘it’s too dangerous.’ Quite obviously, echoing my wife’s very sentiment would have been equivalent to surrendering my king before the first pawn had been moved. I already wasn’t sure that I was going to be able to talk myself out of this one, but I wasn’t going to simply give up. I knew my response was less than inspired, but my creative juices were failing me miserably at the moment. Still, I charged ahead, making a bid to break free of the ‘rock and a hard place’ of my own making.
“Why?” Felicity asked coolly and then baited me with, “Because it’s too dangerous?”
“No. Because it wouldn’t do any good,” I told her. “You didn’t see the things that I saw.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breast. “Neither one of us can remember anything except what the other one said.”
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